Slice of Pie in the Sky
by KleeZeeNex
Summary: Bobby spends his afterlife wishing that angels knew how to knock on doors.


**A/N: I have totally not given up on "Baby's Last Road Trip" for all of you who might care. In the meantime, enjoy this thing that has been sitting open on my laptop since season 8 was airing.**

**This fic is set between "Taxi Driver" and "The Great Escapist." So, [SPOILER ALERT] Bobby is dead and Cas is still an angel. If you're not caught up to season 8, all you really need to know for this fic is that Bobby is in Heaven and Cas ran off from the Winchesters all, "G2G do angel stuff K thnxbye xoxoxo."**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

* * *

Bobby Singer knows next to nothing about Heaven, except maybe that a bunch of winged ass hats live there. He's heard the boys mention the multiple Heavens, the road, and the garden. But when Bobby lands there, there's no road. No garden, either. One minute he's a swirling ball of blue light, and the next he's standing in a box. Heaven, remodeled, he guesses.

He turns a circle, wondering if the white walls will look any different on the other side of his shiny new box; they don't, but he does find an angel standing there with a paint roller.

The two stare at each other. There's an odd look about this person that tells Bobby he's an angel. His blonde hair is a little too straight, his features a little too smooth. Bobby can't for the life of him tell how old the face is, wonders if the blue eyes are actually contacts.

A drop of green paint falls to the floor.

The angel looks at the drop like he could hear it splatter there, and jumps. "Hello! Sorry, we—we weren't expecting you," the angel almost squeaks.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow. "Not the first thing I want to hear after getting into Heaven," he says.

The angel puts the roller down in a pan that must have materialized between blinks. "Oh, no, of course Naomi told us you were coming. It was just such short notice, we haven't had time to—"

"Naomi?" Bobby interrupts.

That face is twelve, Bobby decides after the angel smiles for the first time. "Yes, she keeps things in order here. If you'll just give me a moment I'll have your Heaven ready in no time."

And Bobby has another question on the tip of his tongue, but he loses it when the room tilts and shifts. The angel really did mean "no time," it seems, because the "room" is now a grand library with soft green walls. Bookcases wrap around the room, and Bobby sees doors that probably lead to more. He turns a circle again, drinking it in this time, and his first thought is, _Dean would never let me live this down._

"There, that's much better," the angel says, straightening a framed painting on the wall. "You have a lovely Heaven, you know."

"This is what you do?" Bobby can't help but ask. "Flip Heavens? Thought you were supposed to be a warrior of God, not an interior decorator."

The angel turns, giving Bobby a polite smile. "God?"

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Oh good, I got one with jokes."

The polite smile is still there, frozen on the angel's timeless features. But then he nods and moves on. "Right! Well if this Heaven is to your liking, I'll let you get settled. Have a wonderful eternity, Bobby Singer." And then, with a rustle of wings, Bobby is alone.

* * *

It's a library with a bar, Bobby realizes after heading through door number one. Yeah, Dean can shove it, Bobby decides, because he wouldn't trade this Heaven for…

Bobby sighs, putting his empty glass down and sliding it down the bar. He _would_ trade it for the world, if he had the choice. He'd trade it to see his boys again. Heaven, he thinks, isn't supposed to be so damn lonely.

"Most people think of it as solitude."

Bobby starts and turns, finding the same angel from the day before standing in the doorway. "In _my _Heaven," Bobby snaps. "Everybody knocks and asks politely before getting into my head."

The angel has the sense to look a little sheepish, and softly knocks on the open door.

"Well done," Bobby grumbles, reaching for a bottle on the bottom shelf behind the bar. "I'll have to track down a gold star for you."

After a pause, he hears a footfall as the angel enters the room, like he's intentionally making noise to announce his presence. How nice. "You're… unhappy," the angel says.

"Two gold stars, then."

"I do not require—"

"You know what would make me _happy_?" Bobby interrupts, whirling around. "Not being _dead_. Knowing that the people I care about are all right. And it would also make me _downright cheerful_ if I didn't feel like angels were watching my every damn move. Think you can help me with that?"

The angel takes a step back, looking all sincere and regretful. "I apologize," he says. "I will not invade your privacy again, Bobby Singer."

Bobby notices that the angel doesn't promise anything else, but he doesn't comment on it further. "The hell are you doing here, anyway?" Bobby demands. "Shouldn't you be down there on Earth, terrorizing mankind?"

The angel's eyes go wide. "Oh, I can't go to Earth. I have no vessel."

Bobby narrows his eyes. "The hell are you talkin' about? You look human enough to me."

The angel nods. "This is your Heaven, Bobby Singer. You see things as they are, but what they are is as you wish."

"Do _what_ now?"

The smile the angel wears now is patient, knowing. It makes him look older, like a parent instead of a child. "I am as you think angels should be," he tries to explain again, and Bobby doesn't quite get it, but he lets it go.

"You got a name, then?" Bobby says, finally pouring himself a glass of whatever's in this bottle. All the bottles here are oddly unlabeled, but whatever ends up in Bobby's glass is always what he wants. Nifty.

"I do, yes."

Bobby looks up. Sets the bottle down. Leans on the bar with both hands. "I know for a fact that all angels aren't this clueless," he says.

The angel's smile flickers. "You want to know my name?" he clarifies.

"That was the idea, yeah."

"I see." The angel clasps his hands together as if in preparation of a grand presentation. "My name is Michael," he says.

Bobby steps back once. "Michael."

"Yes."

"_Michael_?"

The angel looks confused again. "Well, yes."

"Well, Michael." Bobby puts the bottle back on the shelf and raises his glass. "I invite you to get the hell out of my Heaven."

The angel disappears immediately, but Bobby thinks he might look a little wounded as he goes.

* * *

In Bobby's Heaven, you don't get a headache when you read for too long. Bobby doesn't even need his reading glasses, really, but when he reaches for them out of habit, they're always there. He never spends twenty minutes looking for his glasses only to find they've been on his head the whole time. That, Bobby thinks, is a nice touch.

He's about to sift through his classics again when he hears a knock on the door. Which door, Bobby doesn't know. The knocking echoes through the whole library, so he walks toward the nearest door and swings it open. "Thought I told you to…" Bobby is already growling when he opens the door, but the angel on the other side of it is not Michael.

"_Cas_?"

Castiel is standing on a wooden porch that leads to a green front lawn, which is more than a little strange—not just because of the angel, but because Bobby is almost positive that this door led to the bar ten minutes ago. And speaking of strange, the angel in question looks nothing like the Leviathan-stained time-bomb that he was when Bobby last saw him. He just stands calmly in that suit and trench coat, nods once, and says, "Hello, Bobby."

Bobby doesn't really know what to ask first. Doesn't know if he should shut the door in Castiel's face. If that would even matter. So he starts off with, "You're not _God_ again, are you?"

Castiel's expression flirts between guilty and amused. "No, I'm… just me," he says.

"Oh really," Bobby says, thinking for the first time how ridiculous it is that his Heaven isn't stocked with holy water. "Old you never just showed up on my doorstep. Old you never knocked on _doors_."

Castiel takes a step backwards, pointing to the left of the doorframe. "There is a sign here that says explicitly to do so," he explains.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow and steps outside, leaning so that he can follow Castiel's gaze. There, nailed to the wall (the log cabin wall—okay) is a wooden sign that reads in swirling cursive, _BLESSINGS ON THIS HOME. PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING._

Thorough little thing, that Michael.

"Yyyyeah," Bobby drawls, backing up until he's inside again. "Okay, well, why are you here? Something horrible and apocalyptic happening again? Are the boys all right?"

Castiel looks a little taken aback at that. "Actually, I was just… visiting," he says.

Bobby is more than a little suspicious. But then Castiel says, "We could catch up," and he sounds uncomfortable with the words, like they don't fit him quite right, but Bobby perks up at the thought of hearing about what Sam and Dean have been up to. That's what has him stepping back and letting Castiel in, but not before warning him, "If this turns out to be some angel trick or illusion, I am going to tear down the walls of this place and raise so much hell it'll make your little halos spin."

At that Castiel actually smiles, assuring Bobby that he's real, he's real.

* * *

Bobby pours them a drink, and Castiel tries to tell Bobby about all that he's missed. It's an awkward, stumbling conversation that fills in some of what Sam didn't get the chance to tell him in Purgatory. Other things Castiel can't talk about, not safely, and Bobby lets it go because that is just the way their lives work. Sam and Dean are mostly all right. Sam is sick, but he and Dean are working very hard to try and save the world again. Castiel is hopeful.

"I appreciate the update," Bobby says into his glass when Castiel finishes. "But I'm still a little fuzzy on one detail."

Castiel puts his own glass down and leans forward on his elbows. He almost looks wary, and Bobby imagines that there are a hundred questions that the angel is hoping Bobby will avoid. "What brings you _here_, Cas? From what you told me, I figure you'd want nothing to do with this place."

Castiel winces, and yep, that's one of the questions Bobby wasn't supposed to ask. But Castiel says, "I should have told you sooner," shooting Bobby a guilty look. "I'm currently… ah… on the run."

That doesn't surprise Bobby at all, but it does make him feel tired. He places both hands flat on the bar and levels Cas with a stare. "Running from _what_?" he demands.

Castiel won't even look at him anymore. He fiddles with a coaster and says, "Well, the… you know. Demons. And people." Then he adds, "Angels," almost under his breath, scratching at the back of his neck.

It's almost a little hilarious, even in the moment, how quickly Bobby takes on the role of the scolding father figure. He's yelling at Castiel before he even remembers that the guy is kind of an angel and kind of capable of smiting him whenever he feels like it. "Are you cracked in the melon?" he starts. "What the hell did you do to get that kind of attention?"

Castiel doesn't look to be in the smiting mood, thankfully. He just hunches in his seat and lets Bobby yell. Bobby takes that as encouragement.

"And you come _here_, of all places? To hide from _angels_?"

"I—"

"I am not even close to done yet, boy."

So Castiel closes his mouth and stares at his hands while Bobby gets the rest of his rant out of his system. It feels nice to have something to yell about, and Bobby would feel a little bad that he's unloading his anger on Castiel if it hadn't been for that God/Leviathan stunt that ultimately got him shot and killed to begin with. He doesn't bring that up, per se, but he does mention that maybe Castiel should have done some thinking before he showed up on Bobby's doorstep, because who knows what could have followed him here?

"You are in no danger," Castiel cuts in at that. "Angels are eternal guardians of the Saved. They will neither harm you nor let any harm come to you."

"Oh, right, well that's comforting," Bobby says, knows he's being crueler than he's meaning to be. "It's not like I've ever seen an angel break a rule before."

Castiel looks absolutely ashamed, and Bobby thinks, there. That's enough, Singer. That's enough. "And besides," Bobby adds, lowering his voice. "That doesn't mean they won't harm _you_."

The hint of concern bleeds through Bobby's statement, and Castiel looks a little less like a kicked puppy when he glances up. "My hope is that no one will expect to find me here," Castiel explains. "But I don't stay in one place for long, and I can sense when angels get too close."

Bobby nods, and yeah, he starts to feel a little bad about the yelling. He pours himself another drink. "And where all do you go?" he asks, trying to take this conversation somewhere lighter as he reaches for Castiel's empty glass. But when he looks up, Castiel's seat is empty.

* * *

Bobby is a little bit surprised to find a game room in his Heaven. It's mostly arcade games that he used to play when he was a kid, but he also spots a television connected to an Xbox that he doesn't quite know how to use. He remembers playing on an Xbox with the boys exactly once, and he barely even remembers why or when.

There's also an air hockey table tucked against the wall, which sends Bobby into a bit of panic. Why would they include a game that requires two people? Do they know that Bobby had a visitor yesterday? And that reminds him, Bobby should have asked Castiel about the Michael thing. Should have asked more about this Naomi character, and exactly how screwy Heaven has gotten and if he should be worried about his own slice.

Or. He could do a little interrogation right now.

It's reckless, Bobby admits to himself, to do this after he just basically harbored an angel fugitive, but there are things that he needs to know. It's his Heaven, damn it, and he should get to do as he pleases.

He clears his throat, stands in the middle of his library, and says, "Uh, hey, Michael. You there?"

Nothing. He tries again.

"This doesn't have to be a prayer, does it? Listen, if you're not too busy I was hoping you could pop in for a quick chat. Got some stuff I want to know, and I can't Google anymore since y'all forgot to hook me up with Wi-Fi." Not that he'd find any answers he wants on the internet, but he can't exactly lead with threatening to interrogate the angel in a ring of holy fire.

And crap, he doesn't have any holy oil. Doesn't even have salt. He's starting to feel naked.

Michael still doesn't appear or answer, but Bobby does hear the sudden whir of a computer fan coming from the corner of the room. He turns around and sees, tucked into the corner between two book cases, a desktop PC. There are no cords leading from the computer, but the monitor is bright and sporting the Google home page.

Bobby crosses his arms and just looks at it for a minute. "Kind of a smart ass, ain'tcha?" he says to the angel who isn't actually there, but is obviously listening.

There is absolutely no reply, and Bobby resigns himself to admitting that he probably offended the poor fella.

* * *

Castiel drops by every now and then, knocking on different doors every time but always seeming to come from the same front porch. He watches Bobby play Pac Man and tells him as much as he can. Yes, he's been checking in on the boys, yes, they're still all right. The Trials are making Sam sicker, but Dean is taking care of him.

"Dean is taking care of everything," Castiel concludes after one of his reports, and it's supposed to be reassuring but Bobby hears the bitterness in it. Cas has found a dart board that Bobby hasn't noticed before, starts making bulls-eyes from across the room. It makes Bobby wonder how many bars Dean has dragged him to, if Cas ever hustled pool.

But the subject of Dean seems touchy at the moment, so Bobby doesn't actually ask. He decides instead to challenge Castiel to a game of air hockey, which turns out to be a horrible mistake because Cas has the reflexes of, well, a warrior of God.

After Bobby realizes that this isn't even close to a fair game, he quits trying to play and tells Castiel about Michael (_"Michael_?" Cas clarified, just as shocked as Bobby was). He tells Cas how Michael is the only angel he's seen so far, how he seems to be one of Naomi's fan boys.

Cas shrugs like he doesn't really understand "fan boys," but works out its meaning on his own. "I imagine all angels here are under Naomi's influence, however distantly," he says, backing up from the table as Bobby hasn't actually bothered to get the puck out of the slot after the last point. His brow creases into confusion. "From what you've said, he sounds almost… newly made."

"Newly made?" A truly horrifying thought comes to Bobby's mind. "You don't think… angels get reincarnated, do they? I mean Michael's not… a _mini_ Michael."

Cas looks as disturbed by that thought as Bobby feels. "No?" he says like he never really thought about it before. He shakes his head. "No."

That's just wonderfully convincing, but Michael doesn't seem to be much of a threat, yet alone a bouncing baby archangel. "So what then," he says. "They're making new angels?"

"Probably not," Castiel says, frowning. "There's a theory that I've heard from other angels—that maybe God created an excess of angels in the Beginning and kept many of them locked away until they were… needed. He could have recycled their names for the sake of cultural significance."

Bobby tries, really tries to make sense of that. "So… God put half His angels in a kennel up here until…. What? Until He ran low?"

It's too late for Bobby to take his words back by the time he realizes that Castiel was probably the reason why they had to dip into their reserve. Castiel looks to be thinking the same thing as he frowns and puts his paddle down. "I should go," he says.

"Angels getting close?" Bobby asks, because Cas doesn't usually make any announcements before he disappears.

"No," Cas replies. "I feel awkward." And then he goes with a flutter of wings.

Bobby can't help but chuckle to himself. Angels sure are touchy.

* * *

The computer is kind of a nice addition to Bobby's Heaven, he has to admit. For some reason he can never get to any news or social networking sites, but Google works well enough. He once spent a whole three hours learning how to do origami. He'd kind of like the computer out of his library though, so he decides to haul the whole thing piece-by-piece into the game room.

He's just taken the monitor into his hands when he hears a knock on the door. "Come on in," he calls, grateful that Cas will be here to get the game room door for him.

The angel who walks in is not Cas, however. It's Michael, who looks surprised and alarmed at the sight of Bobby with the monitor in his hands. "Hello, Bobby Singer," he stutters. "I'm here to check… are you unhappy with the computer?"

Bobby huffs a laugh. "Nah, just moving it. Gimme a hand?"

Michael steps forward, holding his hands out but dropping them instantly. "If you just, ah—tell me where you'd like it, I can transport it for you," he says.

"Thought you could read my mind," Bobby says, and ends up dropping the monitor in Michael's arms. Michael holds it up in one hand, no problem, like the boxy thing is made of Styrofoam.

"You told me not to do that. Without reading your thoughts it is very difficult to keep your Heaven to your liking," Michael says, watching Bobby gather the speakers into his arms. "I could resume watching over you if you—"

"No," Bobby says too firmly, almost dropping the speakers. Michael steps forward and takes those from him, too, oblivious to Bobby's alarm. If any angels get into Bobby's head or even start monitoring him, Cas would get caught in a heartbeat. "Thanks, but no thanks. My heaven is fine."

Bobby still hasn't told Michael where the computer is going, so the angel is forced to carry it the old-fashioned way to the game room. Michael has picked up the computer tower as well as the desk in his free hand, refusing to let Bobby carry anything, so Bobby is actually the one who holds the door open. Bobby then directs Michael to set everything down in the back corner, but the next time he blinks the computer, monitor, speakers, and desk are out of Michael's hands and set up just where Bobby requested.

"Is that all you require, Bobby Singer?" Michael asks without a brush of his hands or roll of his shoulder or any other evidence that he just did any sort of manual labor.

This is his moment, Bobby recognizes. "Actually, I ah… wanted to say sorry for, you know. Kicking you out that one time."

Michael just blinks in surprise.

"And calling you a smart ass," Bobby adds.

It takes a second for this to sink in, but Michael recovers with that plastered smile and a nod of his head. "Thank you, Bobby Singer. But apologies aren't necessary. Angels don't hold grudges."

And it takes a second for that to sink in for Bobby, but when it does he throws his head back and laughs and laughs.

He hears Michael nervously laughing with him, and tries to calm down long enough to say, "Boy, haven't you ever heard of an archangel?" He chuckles again as he says it. Angels don't hold grudges. Ha, ha, ha.

"I'm sorry?"

Bobby's laughter stutters and dies when he sees the pure confusion on Michael's face. "Well—the archangels. I mean they were a pretty spiteful bunch if you… You have no idea what I'm talking about."

Michael's smile turns apologetic, and he shakes his head.

"You don't know about archangels," Bobby states. Michael has no answer. "But you're named for one!"

"Sorry, I don't understand—"

"You know about the apocalypse drama a few years back?"

"I'm afraid not…"

"What about Lucifer?"

"No."

Bobby deflates, shoving his hands in his pockets. "God?" he demands. "You heard of God?"

Michael keeps that polite smile on his face when he replies that he hasn't, sorry.

Bobby doesn't really know what to say to that, so he just runs a hand down his face and says, "Right. You don't—okay. Well thanks for your help with the computer, then."

Michael looks genuinely pleased at that, and he clasps his hands in front of him like he does sometimes. "You are welcome, Bobby Singer. In time I will return to check on you again. Have a wonderful day." And with that the baby angel is gone, and Bobby spends a good long while in an overstuffed armchair, just sitting.

* * *

"It's not entirely unreasonable," Castiel says when Bobby tells him that Michael doesn't know about God. "Naomi has the ability to manipulate the minds of angels. If it's power she wants, she's been smart to convince all of the newly released angels that she's been the only leader of Heaven."

Bobby grunts and picks up a stack of books, leaving Cas to explore the library. Bobby has taken to wanting the books everywhere, in every room, even out on the porch. It drives Cas nuts, because every time he thinks he's taken inventory of every book in the place, new ones will appear where Bobby has cleared a shelf.

Bobby places the stack of books right in the middle of the bar, because it's not like he needs all this space. He also grabs a bottle of what he thinks is probably tequila, because why the hell not.

Cas's voice drifts to him from the library, saying, "Do you know you have a first edition Chaucer in here?"

"Huh," Bobby says, deciding against the tequila and going for beer instead. "Like a _first edition_ or a first edition?"

"What?"

Bobby wanders back into the library, tossing Cas one of the beers as he tries to ask if the first edition was plucked from Earth to go in his library, or if some angel mojoed a perfect copy there. Castiel opens his beer and admits that he doesn't know.

Bobby watches him as he puts back the Chaucer and deposits himself in one of the leather armchairs in the center of the room. Castiel doesn't wear and tear, but he does do this now and then. Just sits down with a sigh like he wishes he'll never have to get up again. But he never sits for more than ten minutes, and this time it's only been three before Bobby looks over and Cas isn't there.

* * *

Michael doesn't come by very often, and Castiel is never there when he does. Bobby wonders how many times Castiel has zapped somewhere else when he sensed another angel in Bobby's Heaven, if he has the same problems with any of the other Heavens he "visits."

Today Michael has worried himself over the lack of sleeping arrangements in Bobby's Heaven. This is how all of Michael's visits work. He pops in, fixes what needs fixing, maybe engages in Bobby's half-hearted conversation, and pops out. Right now Bobby is trying to assure Michael that he likes to nap in the chairs, and usually he doesn't sleep at all.

"Would you like something to help you sleep?" Michael offers. "Some soothing sounds, maybe tea? Is the room temperature all right?"

When Michael gets like this it sort of weirds Bobby out to the point where he can't follow the conversation long enough to answer Michael's questions. He decides to counter with his own question: "Is this how all the other Heavens work?"

Michael looks at him. "How do you mean?"

"You know. Does everyone get an angel like you fretting over the wallpaper every other day?"

"There's no wallpaper here," Michael says, but he catches himself at Bobby's look of exasperation. Getting an angel to stop taking everything literally is kind of like house-breaking a puppy, Bobby's learned, but Michael is catching on well enough. "I mean, with everyone else I keep my distance," Michael amends, "I don't have to ask what needs doing, because I can read it from their minds."

"But you can't with me."

"No."

"Because I told you not to."

"Correct."

"Wow. I'm quite the pain in the ass, huh?"

That startles Michael into a laugh—an actual laugh that lasts only a second until the angel hears it and claps a hand over his mouth. He almost looks terrified after that until he sees that Bobby is grinning, shaking his head.

They say their stiff goodbyes after that, but before he goes Michael stops to say, "Bobby Singer?"

"Yeah?"

"If you'd like me to look into wallpaper—"

"Get outta my library, ya idgit," Bobby tells him, but his tone is fond enough that Michael doesn't even seem to take offense this time.

* * *

A long time passes before Cas turns up again. Bobby has learned to stop thinking of time in days, but he still tries to gauge how long the angel has been gone. He decides to measure in Michael Visits. The baby angel has been here three times since Bobby last saw Cas.

When he does show up and Bobby lets him in, Cas goes straight for the bar without so much of as a, "How do you do." Bobby trails behind Cas without complaint, because he doesn't quite care for the pleasantries anyway, and watches Cas drop heavily onto a bar stool and drop his head in his hands.

Bobby stands there for a moment, marveling at the humanity in the gesture, before he manages to ask, "Rough day?"

Cas doesn't answer. He never really mastered the concept of rhetorical questions, and sometimes he overcompensates.

Or maybe he's just passed out.

"You want a beer?" Bobby tries again, and this time he gets something of a grunt in response. Bobby nods. "I'll get you a beer."

He's getting a bottle out of his mini-fridge when he realizes that he rarely drinks anything here other than beer or the Mystery Liquor. It's not like he gets thirsty in Heaven, and he doesn't remember ever being drunk since he got here. Maybe one day he'll drink sweet tea on the front porch, but Bobby doesn't really think he's to that stage in his old age yet.

Bobby sets the beer down on the bar in front of Cas, who lifts his head at the soft _thunk_. Cas drains half of it in two pulls, and then puts the bottle back down to stare into the dark glass.

The angel is emanating an aura of "I don't want to talk about it," so Bobby sits down, drinks his own beer, and doesn't talk about it. Instead he brings up trivial things, things he's had time to ponder over when he ran out of paper for origami and Michael was in between visits. He asks Cas if angels ever wrote any hymns, if color had been invented before God created light. Things like that.

Cas is almost relaxed and normal by the time he tries to answer Bobby's final burning question about the existence of the Loch Ness monster. "In the Cretaceous period—"

"No," Bobby says. "Right now. Is there a Lock Ness monster swimming around out there today?"

Cas slides his mostly-empty beer bottle from one hand to the other, shaking his head. "There is a large subspecies of dolphin that mankind has yet to discover, but I doubt that would qualify."

"Right," Bobby says. "I want you to stop by my buddy Rufus's Heaven and tell him he owes me fifty bucks."

Cas almost smiles and opens his mouth to reply, but then they both hear a knock on the door. Castiel looks up from his bottle, stilling his hand. Three, calm knocks, Bobby notes. It's Michael.

Bobby glances toward the door as if he expects it to just swing open today, which would just be his luck. It stays closed as always, though, and by the time he turns back to the bar, Castiel is gone.

* * *

Michael is very apologetic about the lack of paper. He makes a filing cabinet appear in the game room, and when Bobby opens it up, it's filled with all kinds of colored loose-leaf. He doesn't even have the heart to tell Michael that he was kind of bored with origami anyhow and was thinking of taking up wood-carving. Instead he tells Michael that the filing cabinet was a good idea, and Michael acts like he's placated for the moment before he moves on to worrying about whether or not the paper is the right weight.

Bobby rolls his eyes through this, sifting through his old paper sculptures until he finds a lotus. He tells Michael that it's a "calm-your-ass-down flower," and gives it to the angel as a thank-you gift.

* * *

Bobby wouldn't really say he's bored, but he wouldn't call his Heaven a sea of thrills, either. He reads and drinks and plays like a child, tries to make something with his hands as often as he can. Michael's visits are short and monotonous; the most excitement Bobby gets out of them is trying to provoke the baby angel into a laugh, a yell, an anything other than that polite smile. Then Cas will come by, and it's like whiplash after trying to scrape a personality out Michael, who will fret and grin but won't snap, won't grouch, won't laugh at Bobby's stories. The one in the trench coat, that's the one that's already been trained. Cas, he's been broken, and Bobby doesn't know whether to attribute that to God or Dean or the Devil himself.

Nowadays Bobby has taken to worrying about that one. Cas hasn't stuck around for more than ten minutes at a time since, what… since before the Origami Paper Debacle of 2013. He flickers in an out of Bobby's Heaven, staying just long enough to tell Bobby what he knows about the boys. Lately he hasn't had much to say except for things like, _Hi, how are you, got chased to the third star off Neptune, didn't much like the weather, and Sam ate a peanut butter sandwich yesterday._

Bobby sighs, flipping through the Stephen King novel in his lap without actually reading it. He wonders what Sam and Dean are doing right now. He wonders what they would say about Michael. Imagines them playing Xbox in the game room, arguing about acceptable snack foods and not killing demons.

He's about to move his moping to his bar when he hears a pounding on the door. He would be relieved to have some company right about now, except the pounding rattles the walls and is followed by an insistent, "Bobby! Bobby, _let me in_!"

Bobby stands up, dropping his book on the side table. "Yeah, Cas, come in," Bobby calls.

Cas bursts through the door to the left of his Sci-Fi collection, panting like he just ran a lap around Orion's Belt. Hell, maybe he did. Angel, and all. "What's going on?" Bobby asks while Cas closes the door behind him.

Cas backs up from the door and strides toward Bobby. "They won't hurt you," he says in a rush, and passes Bobby to head straight for the book shelves.

"Who's 'they?'" Bobby asks, and the words are barely out of his mouth before he hears a pounding at the door again, but louder and more frequent.

Cas is yanking books out of the shelves, clearly looking for something that's not there. "You don't have any grimoires in this entire library?" he says.

"No, I don't—would you stop for a second and tell me what the hell is happening?"

Cas turns around, no less frantic. "I need a knife, then."

Bobby throws his hands up and says, "Might be one in the bar, I don't know," before he thinks to ask what Cas needs a knife for.

The pounding on the door stops while Cas is looking for a knife, and then Bobby hears an unfamiliar voice booming from outside, "Bobby Singer, let us in. You are harboring a dangerous enemy of Heaven."

Well that answers the "Who are they and what do they want?" question. Bobby rolls his eyes. "Um," he calls back. "Yeah. I know." At this point Cas has emerged from the bar with a small kitchen knife, and Bobby says to him, "I think Naomi brain-scrubbed these jokers one too many times."

Castiel ignores him, and slices a line through his arm. Then he swipes up the blood and uses it to write on the flat side of a bookshelf.

"Cas, they can't get in if I don't let them," Bobby reminds him. "You don't need to be angel-proofing the place."

Cas finally stops at that, takes a breath. "You're right," he says, but his hands are still shaking. "I just—"

"_This is your last warning,"_ the voice bellows again. "We _will_ get in."

And the pounding stops.

For a long time, Castiel and Bobby freeze there. The knocking never resumes, and the cut on Castiel's arm slowly heals over. The blood on the book case starts to drip.

And then the front wall explodes into splinters.

* * *

**TBC.**


End file.
